


Things Long Lost

by WolfDogstar



Series: The Lost Generation-Love,Life and Loss. [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Heavy Angst, Lost years of Remus Lupin, M/M, Nostalgia, POV Remus Lupin, Sad Remus Lupin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 22:47:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13534134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfDogstar/pseuds/WolfDogstar
Summary: Remus finds a picture of Sirius in an old book five years after the fatefull night in Godric's Hollow. He cannot help but relive some memories even though they are way too painful.





	Things Long Lost

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own anything.

June,1986.

This picture is old. Ancient, at least to me. It belongs to a different lifetime where friendship and love still meant something, where war was still a myth and we, untouched by war, thought we could conquer the world.  
As I pick it off the floor, where it fell off after slipping out of a book, I wonder why I still have it. Everything that belonged to you, other than me, I have left behind. I wish I could leave behind myself too or rather freeze in time till death take me. I'm already as good as dead. The transformation these days take away too much of energy and I'm left to fend for myself . _Alone_ . Your slender fingers and soft touches have been lost to me for over half a decade yet I can still feel them in my dreams some nights. When I do, I dare allow myself to think if you're still alive. But no matter how much I hate you, I still love you. I will always love the man you were till the moment you thought about betraying us all.

_Betraying me._

I stare at the picture so lost in thought, I don't realize when my feet have carried me over to a chair. It squeaks as I sit down and I startle, the sound too loud in the hollow room I have just rented.

I have moved again. My previous landlord was a muggle but after a theft at his house, he was convinced I was somehow related to the crime and threw me out, threatening to call the police if I ever show up at his door steps again. I guess it comes with all the scars I have on my face now. I guess my inner monster in finally on display for all the world to see.

I packed up within a night and left. Not that I have too many belongings, but it was just after a full moon and I was still healing from a broken rib. It took a toll on me, all the lifting and pushing of scarce furniture and heavy books.

I haven't unpacked yet. What's the point anyway? I might have to move again next month. The only good thing these days is that I have held a job for more than three months. It's a job of a helper in a muggle library. The librarian is a muggle but her sister was a witch and by some miracle she knows what I'm but doesn't hate me. _Yet_. She had even invited me over to dinner once. I had been so flabbergasted that she had laughed and patted me on the back saying," Come over son. God know you need a good meal."

Margaret, the librarian and her husband John are good and kind people. It's been too long since I've even touched anyone. Their kindness feels like a balm on my soul. But eventually it too will pass , I suppose and I can't decide whether I should push away such kind people or embrace them. I want to be a keeper but you know where it got me the last time.

As I make tea for the fifth time this afternoon, my eyes rest again on the picture now lying in the table.

How beautiful you had looked that evening! It had been a rare moment, away from all the chaos unravelling around us. I had woken up to you plucking on the guitar strings. You had recently acquired the desire to learn and we had bought a guitar just the week before. You had an instructions book floating in front of you as you struggled to understand the basics. I had been awe-struck by your beauty. As the rays of the setting sun caught in your hair ,you had looked, what I can only describe as, celestial.  
You were a God to me. Who else could love me?  
I adored you.  
If I were given one wish I would wish to be frozen in that moment forever with you. I would trade all my years just to go back to one single moment when we were happy. I had no intension of disturbing you but you had looked way too irresistible than anyone has a right to. You had chuckled as I ran my fingers over your furrowed brows, pushed your unruly hair out of your face and kissed you. I could taste your laughter in my mouth and it was the best feeling in the world. Nothing could ever have been or will be better.

With a jolt I remember I have a recording of you somewhere and curse myself. I should have left them in our old apartment along with your clothes and stupid records. But this one was special. It was a recording of a song you had composed. The only one you had recorded.

Against all my better judgement, I fish for it in all the boxes I haven't touched in ages. When I finally find it, I don't know what to do. A part of me wants to throw it away but another part wants to listen to the record. To hear your voice. It has been too long.

And as night falls, I put the record on and wait. I wait for the split moment of happiness I will feel before it turns into a knife stab, twisting, mutilating and stomping on my heart.

As the mellow strumming of your guitar filters through still air around me, I curl up on the couch, pulling my knees up to my chest, pretending, hoping that it will guard me from pain.

Your voice makes me shiver. It's middle of June but I'm trembling way too much to turn the record off. I drift in and out of sleep, unconciousness. In my fevered haze all I see is you- how you had looked one evening in the Gryffindor common room by the fire, how Padfoot had licked me the first time, how you used to cry, how we used to laugh. Things I don't remember remembering. But time and again I go back to that evening. Time and again I push back your hair and kiss you in the mellow evening sun.

But when I wake, cold and alone, I think the same thing I have thought of the last five years.

_This is all there is._   
_This is my reality._   
_This is my forever._

**Author's Note:**

> Written in thought of someone I love.


End file.
